


Mayores

by hosiexa



Series: (G)I-DLE - linked Charlie's Angels universe [2]
Category: (여자)아이들 | (G)I-DLE
Genre: Agent Red - Freeform, Charlie's Angel's AU, F/M, M/M, Red Ivy, Soojin!killer, Soojin!stripper, married!sooshu, sooshu is endgame always but this fic shows how soojin got involved in soyeon's mess, sooshu!mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28821702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hosiexa/pseuds/hosiexa
Summary: Agent Seo Soojin has a debt to pay with Nicha Yontararak and this is why she leaves her vacation and her wife to get into a war with international mafia gangs.
Relationships: Seo Soojin/Yeh Shuhua
Series: (G)I-DLE - linked Charlie's Angels universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893118
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Mayores

**Author's Note:**

> hi, guys!!! i'm back with my first sooshu fic, yaaaaaaaayy!!!! 
> 
> for those who do not follow me on twitter, let me sum it all up: this is a series where our girls are secret agents.
> 
> the idea of this series is pretty simple: gidle, but in charlies angels (the new movie) universe, or something related to it. there will be three initial stories (the yuyeon one is already out), each one telling the history of each couple (there will be another sooshu one shot coming rlly soon to explain how they met, cuz in this fic shuhua is only mentionated), and then there will be a short fic bringing all of them together in only one mission.
> 
> alert: you might see some original characters and some other idols even. if they are here, its because i like them or because i have nothing against them, so please dont get me wrong.
> 
> ps: if you read "midzy", here in this universe it means bosley, that is like a superior agent.
> 
> the title of the chapter is from becky g's song, mayores.
> 
> hope u like it <3

**August 28, 2020 — Hilo, Hawaii**

The one thing Seo Soojin has been learning from her holidays is that she needs more of them.

Not that she hates her job or anything; in fact, she loves it, but it tends to take too much of her _and_ of her time, and her family isn't exactly happy about it. It was her duty to make up for her absence, whatever she made them go through because of what Fate had put in her hands as a job — it is not its fault that she is so good at what she does, though.

That is why they are so far from home — nine thousand, eight hundred and seventy-eight kilometers away, to be precise. And after six weeks at the Hilo Seaside Hotel, an inn away from the tourist coast because, after all, they seek for privacy; Soojin is on the verge of getting used to lull and peace and silence, and the mornings waking up early just to watch the sunrise with the one person she loves the most in the world reaffirms her inner will every single time. — the smile that the lips of the girl she’s watching form, while she plays with the weak waves of the sea is the best good morning view possible, and generally captures her everything. 

Because that girl _is_ her everything.

Her existence insists on assuring Soojin that she made the right choice for her future, it provides her with the same feeling that invades her body everytime she finishes a mission. It's as if everything is perfectly aligned in the Universe, and it gives her peace.

As for her cellphone, well, it had been ringing incessantly every four hours, forcing her to have no alternative but to turn it off and forget about it in her suitcase. The device would not even serve to take photos, since digital photographs are out of question, but that is why the yellow Polaroid is there, next to her in the white chaise lounge, surrounded by five or six small photographs.

The beach is busy, she notices, compared to the previous days they visited it, and yet it doesn't even house more than fifty people. The hot day had forced residents to take time to bathe, she imagines, since the area is not popular enough to have more than three hotels and it is relatively easy, especially for Soojin, to distinguish tourists from natives.

There are colorful bathing suits in every direction she looks, the skins being tanned by the sun's rays from a cloudless sky. The brunette is an exception, though: she is lying on the lounge under an umbrella three times her size, a Ray-Ban protecting her eyes from all that light, but only one person among those who bathe in the saltwater interests her, and she cannot get her attention off her almost bare back.

“Red,” the owner of the voice suddenly sits next to her, on a sun lounger that does not belong to her, with a contained smile and denim shorts covering half the length of her black swimsuit. There are sunglasses on her face as well.

“What the hell are you doing here, Hyuna?” The aggressiveness of her voice does not match the lightness with which she performs her movements.

“You haven't answered my calls. I didn't have much of a choice,” she explains, finally looking back.

“That doesn't justify shit. I'm on vacation!”

“I know that, Red, believe me. I didn't want to have to be here either,” she lowers her glasses, allowing Soojin to see her brown irises. “But there’s someone to whom you owe a favor and she’s charging it.”

Soojin sits up correctly and looks at her, knowing exactly who she’s talking about. She wishes Hyuna isn't being serious, but if she is, _fuck_ , because Soojin is about to be annihilated as soon as she gets home after whatever it is.

“Where do they need me?”

Hyuna smiles when she sees her understanding. “I'll explain everything to you in the car. We have to go now.”

Seeing the older woman’s body rise and stretch, she stands up, looking for a second at the brunette in the water, oblivious to the conversation that is taking place between the two of them.

“Right now? Wait, I have to warn-”

“My team will take care of that, don't worry,” Hyuna grabs her arm, but withdraws her hand once she has Soojin’s gaze on her. “My bad. Sorry.”

"That idiot better have a very good excuse to get me out of my vacation," she mumbles.

Hyuna starts to walk and Soojin sighs, for she knows she _has_ to follow her own word and help that stupid Thai girl — she owes her _so much_. 

The past, as everyone says, would always pursue her, no matter how much time has passed.

+++

**November 26, 2020 — London, England**

It is one and twenty in the morning and the One Kiss Club is in full operation: the DJ guides the loud beat around the place, drinks come out every second of the bar and the girls in their short, sexy uniforms walk from side to side, some of them taking drinks to customers, others entertaining them with their provocative little dances on stage and others _with_ them. It is not to be expected less from the most famous strip club in London, a club that, by the way, even gains some immunity from the constant legal threats that the consumption of illicit drugs within the establishment brings, thanks to the important figures who frequently appear to enjoy what the place has as its best.

And that's why Ivy works there.

It took a while for her to adjust, she must confess. She was not used to the lifestyle of a dancer until she was faced with this opportunity, but it has been two months since her hiring and her name has resonated among the big business names — British or foreign, legal or illegal — who pass there just to see her.

 _Her_ , Red Ivy.

"Ivy, they're calling you," she doesn't see who said it, but, by the voice, it must have been Amber, the club's choreographer and event organizer.

This is a little strange because she has forty minutes to go before her performance and she never performed at a different time, but that still doesn't stop her from putting on high-heeled boots — with heels so thin it barely lets her walk — and leaving the dressing room, which is still full of girls the same age as her or similar, all getting ready for the night.

Her hands grab the rail as soon as she steps into the hall, waiting for a moment to take a look from the privileged view of what happens down there before going down. The second floor is intended for V.I.P.S. and for employees, and there is only one access staircase on the right side of the hall, close to the stage. She can see Scott and Jade preparing drinks behind the counter that separates the bar from the rest of the space, Stephany and Charlotte at the bars on the platform and a lot of rich strangers scattered across the floor, from old men leaning on the sofas, with dirty hands clinging in the bodies of their companions, to young people occupying small individual round tables while they drool on the girls and get drunk with Daddy's money.

An environment that has become as familiar as her own home.

As soon as she sets foot on the first steps of the stairs, it is as if there’s a spotlight on her; there isn't, though. Still, eyes fly toward her, admiring her from the brown strands attached to the top of her head to the long black boots that reach her knees. 

They like it, she knows they do. She had dressed up for them, after all. The loaded eyeliner, the highlighter shining on her face, the strong red lipstick on her lips; everything is attractive to them, and, although the feeling of power is very satisfying, she wears a long scarlet blazer, which covers her thighs and hides her actual outfit for today, as a pleasant surprise wrapped as a gift.

'"Miss Red," Spencer, the assistant to one of the owners of the place, offers his arm when there are no more steps in front of her. She accepts it.

The man, in his early thirties, had recently been promoted to General Manager of the One Kiss Club and has a pretty decent education, due to his long contact with important people and his habit of dealing with interpersonal relationships on behalf of the establishment. Sponsors, partners, customers; this kind of thing.

He guides her to the other side of the room, where, surrounded by his tough bodyguards — five in total, tall, muscular men — is Richard Brenston, Europe's largest and most successful drug dealer, cited in major crimes like drug and women trafficking, serial murder and fraud of British state documents. Half of the security organizations in the world are after him and none have caught him so far… It says a lot.

Covered by his gray Italian linen costume, the forty-three-year-old outlaw holds a glass of whiskey in one hand and his eyes follow Ivy like seals chasing penguins. He’s here tonight only to see her, she knows it, so much that she passes by his puppets in black suits who at all costs try to hide the gun in their waists and appear normal — something they cannot do — and sit directly on his lap.

"You're keeping a beard," she points out and runs her fingers through the thick hair on his chin. "I liked it."

He smiles but says nothing — Richard is not a man of many words —, but grabs her waist and palms her thigh.

"Mr. Brenston," Spencer begins, too polite, too starched. "Your companion has a presentation scheduled just in a bit. I advise you not to deprive her of her work."

Richard looks at her and smiles. He puts on his sunglasses and looks at the manager in front of him. “Leave us.”

Like a dog, Spencer obeys, and the drug dealer tightens again the exposed parts of Ivy's majestic body.

"You have to leave me with something or I won't have anything to take off during the show," she reminds him, his face close enough to hers for her to hear his heavy breathing.

"You’ll dance tonight?" She nods. "Very well. I want to see it."

Ivy takes his wrist and checks the time, the tension he can't control reaching her every move. "We still have a minute or two."

"What do you want, my naughty girl?" His whiskey is abandoned and the glass falls to the floor: nobody cares about it. His free hand now pulls her hair up, and she knows she'll have to pay Roxanne twenty bucks later. The old man has a submission fetish, after all. "Won’t you tell me?" He pulls it again and her blood boils.

"If you're so curious," she teases, their mouths too close, but never touching. "Why don't you try to find out?"

The man lets go of her hair when he hears Frankie, the DJ, announce from above that it’s her show time. She fixes her hair before getting up and looks at him again, provoking him, testing him. His attention has been on her for weeks, but she wouldn't be so easy, she had to make him work for it. 

Her legs start to walk when his hand slaps her ass and, once again, she boils.

The stage is empty now, the bars entirely available only to her. The song Go Fuck Yourself, by Two Feet, starts playing before she even goes on stage, but she allows it because it was what she had programmed earlier with Frankie. There is a very explicit monarchy in the club and she is one of the few princesses; not everyone can do a solo performance, this is a right that must be earned, given as a prize, a prize that she received in her second week of work and has not had a bad answer ever since. Ivy strives to continue to keep it, to ensure that no one steals her spotlight, her fastest chance of reaching _him_.

She is in the center of the stage when the first moan sounds and starts the real beat, the whole room covered by darkness, except for the white light spotlight that focuses only on her. Her knees open on the floor in a sexy move and her head spins. However, the unbuttoned blazer still hinders the vision of her loved ones and so she takes it off, tossing it to her main client.

He continues in his pose, quiet, majestic; watching her while waiting for more.

The lacy bodice, the black and red fabric, the sticky and thin shorts: everything looks perfect on her, and the small but sensual pieces of clothing provide an alarming reaction when she joins her legs and rolls against the floor, leaning on the bar to go up and press the metal against her hip once, twice as much. Mouth open, sigh warm.

Ivy hears shouts of encouragement, dirty words, vulgar promises and desperate requests.

Men are just _too easy_ , and the thought proves itself true when a special request comes out, straight from Richard's mouth, a desperate prayer to see her even more naked. And so she does, untangling the bodice, throwing it at anyone who deigns to raise their arm and catch it. Just a bra and panties now, like they like to see her.

She is a good girl and her boys need punishment. They would have it by her own hands.

(...)

“Great show today, Ivy!” Spencer goes to her smiling and excited, but does not take the seat next to her at the bar, remaining standing.

"Thank you," she replies, taking her eyes off him to return them to her glass.

“I'm serious. I've never seen anyone dominate the audience like you. It was incredible, great, awesome work!”

He wants something, of course he wants something.

"Speak at once," she asks, bored.

His gaze flies to the luxury couch occupied by Richard and then back to the girl. Ivy knows what he's going to say and, honestly, she's lucky. All of her current co-workers are fighting for a chance with the club's richest client.

“I know that your limits are explicit in our contract, and that I've tried this a thousand times, but, try to see it,” his eyes start to squander real despair, almost bordering on fear. “Come on, Ivy, think a little bit. It's Richard Brenston over there and he's asking exclusively for you. He _never_ asks for only one person.”

“Did you tell him that I don't sleep with clients?”

“Of course I di! What do you think I am? A moron? But the old guy wants you. Make an exception, for God's sake. I’ll double your salary!”

Good heavens, he's really up for anything.

“The triple.”

“What?”

"I want three times what I earn now," she explains, although her tone is not explanatory. "Or you can go back to Mr. Brenston and ask him to choose someone else."

Spencer seems indecisive, perhaps wondering where, in the name of everything in the world, he would get that amount of money to pay her every month. But he knows that Ivy won’t give up, she was always a good negotiator — things like that are taught at the Academy — and businessmen like him must know their limits. The manager knows his.

“All right!”

She doesn't stay to hear anything else from his mouth, just gets up and leaves him next to the bar, along with her own drink. Richard catches her eye as soon as she looks at him, and the dealer stretches, buttoning his suit. A wave of his hand and one of his men catches up with her, covering her almost naked body with the scarlet blazer she had thrown away earlier and directing her to the exit.

"Let's go," Brenston orders, grabbing her waist again. “You're mine tonight.”

His words sound like a promise and soon the brunette discovers that he is not like the previous boys she once had to accompany. Richard does not deepen any touch while they are in his car, on the way to his hotel. Nor does he do it in the lobby or in the elevator. If he did, though, she would be prepared: she had been through some similar situations before, she just wasn't alone back then. Working together is easier, but alone is funnier.

She concludes that Richard knows how to wait.

As soon as they reach the tenth floor, his bodyguards remain in the corridor and the mobster guides her by himself into room B31.

  1. Ivy particularly likes that number.



His strangely well-kept body throws her against the wall and his mouth attacks her neck. He squeezes her thigh and holds it next to her waist, making his throbbing and excited dick brush against her, still inside his pants.

Suppressing the urge, she smiles provocatively and takes his face away from her. “How about we play a little? I brought toys,” she suggests, thrusting her groin against Richard as she bites her lip.

He smiles, delighted, completely seduced, and gives her space to take control. Taking her cues, she tosses him on the mattress and kneels on the bed, squeezing some parts of his legs as she approaches his torso.

“Are you ready, _baby boy_ ? Do you want me to _dance_?”

Richard does not answer because he knows that she’s not waiting for an answer. He was also never _a man of words_ , anyway.

She sits on his erection covered by pants and unties his belt. From the pocket of her blazer, she takes out a handcuff and smiles suggestively, biting it and licking it before placing the object in his hand, passing the metal through the gap in the bed to stick it in the second wrist.

“You will see me dance, _baby boy_.”

Her announcement makes him move below her, too restless, too disobedient. He deserves it. Well, of course he deserves it. The idiot doesn't even notice when she takes the knife out of her boot, his eyes completely locked on the movements of her mouth on the buttons of his shirt. Not until the blade has been passed through his jugular, at least, and his destroyed vocal cords stop him from screaming.

She watches him gradually lose his movement; the erection wilting under her hips, the desire leaving his eyes, the blood spreading across the white sheets of the mattress.

“Nobody will miss you, dear. Don't worry,” Ivy assures to the soul that flies away and gets up.

Bukowski used to say that death for most people is a scam because there’s nothing left in them to die. Richard Brenston was one of those people and his death will guarantee the lives of thousands of others. It’s worth it.

But she is not a vigilante, she never was. She started out as a street thief, actually. Another girl who entered the system too early and was expelled from the orphanage for being of age, abandoned on the streets with nothing to eat and without the slightest vision of the future. They don't give those luxuries to people like her. And life teaches a lot, but none of those lessons she could use for good, so she found herself sometime later killing people for money or just to survive. Idle found her and welcomed her. The Academy has given her an entire new purpose in life.

But that was nine years ago and remembering old times would not finish the mission for her.

“Come on, stupid thing. Turn on at once,” she murmurs as she hits the small device she just pulled out of her boot, just after taking off her shoe. The analysis disc finally turns on and does its job, scanning the hotel walls and finding for her the folder that the deceased man had tried to hide.

She locks the bedroom door and looks at herself through the mirror, her clothes stained red and her hair completely messed up. This is her, this is her job. This is Seo Soojin — Red is her identification name when she’s working, but Ivy was randomly given to her by the Academy for that specific mission. She has had too many names already.

Abandoning her own reflection, she moves the chair away from the side wall, carrying it to keep from making a noise, and crouches down to find the built-in safe, protected by a password and a digital reader. Nothing that a glass cup and plastic sticker with makeup powder can't solve. Now the suitcase is in her hand and this is her time to go.

Her hand picks up the sunglasses of the man who fell near the door when they got in before she approaches the porch. “Goodbye, _baby boy_. And thank you very much.”

The lifeless body does not respond, the blood still leaving the body through the open wound to color the bedding, and she propels herself off the floor, landing on the balcony of the room below. The couple who occupies it get frightened, but that still guarantees her a ten-minute escape and not all of them will be needed.

Soojin heads for the elevator, leaving the lobby and avoiding Richard's few men at the entrance. The exit through the service area is always the easiest way out and there is her ride, listening to her Brazilian funk songs inside the black SUV while shaking her head from side to side. She's really a weirdo.

The agent swings the suitcase towards her.

“Half an hour less than the other time,” Hyuna observes after taking a look at her wristwatch.

“What can I say? He was pissing me off,” she explains, getting in the car and putting on the belt. “You shouldn't keep the glass open.”

“I'm literally a Midzy, I think I can handle it,” she picks up the briefcase and watches it closely. “Hey, this has a password!”

“That's not my business. My part is done,” Soojin takes almost a whole minute to speak again. “Did you talk to Nicha?”

"You know the rules, Red. It's _Minnie_ , not Nicha," the woman corrects, like the boring adult she is. The rules are stupid anyway because Soojin calls her Hyuna, not Midzy four-three-nine, as the Academy had determined. “And yes, we're keeping in touch. She’ill meet you in a few hours.”

"Great," she snaps. “Seven years to charge a debt and she does it right on my vacation. I will kill her.”

Hyuna laughs. “What name did he call you this time?”

“The same as always. _Baby girl_ ," she rolls her eyes. "I swear to God, men don't have any creativity."

"And what did _you_ call him?"

"Baby boy, of course. I have to be kind to my _loved_ ones."

Midzy shakes her head as she turns the car key. “You never change, Red.”

“I'm just one person, Hyuna, and I happen to like myself the way I am. Plus, I was the stripper this time, so you will write the report.”

Soojin hears her cursing and ignores it because the car is already moving and her expression does not cause her any pity. But it's still nice to have a Midzy by her side.

“I already reported to Idle, why do _I_ have to write it all down when you _experienced_ it?”

“You know the rules!”

“So do you!”

“I spent two months dancing for despicable men. That part is up to you! End of conversation.”

Hyuna doesn't insist anymore, but remains uneasy. Soojin turns off the radio because the exaggerated beats of the song, which she doesn't even recognize, that echoes through the speakers are starting to give her a headache.

"Green called," she finally reveals. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Great,” the agent curses Nicha Yontararak again, giving up her sleep to pick up her cell phone in the back seat, already typing the number.

Good heavens, her wife is going to _kill_ her.

**Author's Note:**

> sooooooo dfghjxdcfgh i hope y'all are curious about it now dfghjucfghcgh remember, the next one shot will be another sooshu so i can show u guys how they met and got together, and then it's time to bring mimin to life, but i might as well take my time to create the whole thing and write it all, so please be patient dfghifgh 
> 
> my twitter is hosieonthejelly and basically always there in case someone wants to chat
> 
> STREAM HWAA !!!!!!!!
> 
> i'll appreciate a lot any comment or kuddo! <33 stay safe, everyone


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